


Playing to Win

by keelywolfe



Series: by any other name [52]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Underfell (Undertale), Alternate Universe - Underswap (Undertale), Domestic, Established Relationship, Flirting, Fluff, M/M, Spicyhoney - Freeform, Teasing, Underfell Papyrus (Undertale), Underswap Papyrus (Undertale), Undertale Monsters on the Surface, papcest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-10-26 14:37:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17747726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keelywolfe/pseuds/keelywolfe
Summary: Some people play games to have fun. Some people play to win.Stretch is pretty sure he knows what category he falls in.





	Playing to Win

**Author's Note:**

> This story is for Stoffelees who gave me the idea. 
> 
> To quote:  
> "Each person gets $20 and has to buy their outfit for the date at a visit to the thrift store immediately before starting the date (so not washing or altering)."
> 
> Way too fun of an idea to let go!

* * *

“You’re all taking forever,” Stretch whined from where he was sprawled across a couple of chairs outside the dressing rooms. If anyone else had been there, he would have behaved and sat up, but it was Wednesday night and they were at the thrift store. Not exactly lining up to get in. 

If there were any adventures to be had tonight, then they were definitely going to have to venture out to find them. Which was the damn plan, if all the slowpokes would hurry the hell up.

“Keep your hair on, I’m almost done,” Jeff called. Whatever he was changing into seemed to involve some effort, there was a lot of shuffling around going on in there. If he hadn’t actually seen Antwan going into another dressing room, Stretch would have peeked under the door to count feet.

Stretch leaned back until his head was hanging off the side of the chair, “if that’s supposed to be a pun of some sort, andy, i’m deducting two points for lack of originality.”

“Hey, it could be foreshadowing,” Jeff complained amicably. “For all I know, you’re wearing a wig. Isn’t that the point of this?”

Huh…well, he made a good argument.

“true,” Stretch agreed, “i’ll allow it, full credit.”

“Thank you,” Jeff said primly. It was ruined by Antwan’s interrupting with a fresh round of exasperation, only a little muffled by the door.

“If you two are done, would you let me finish getting this on?”

“yeah, yeah, hurry up in there!” Stretch twisted so he was straddling the seat, eyeing the trio of closed doors. Edge was being suspiciously quiet, but then, he was counting himself lucky just for getting him through the door. His baby had a sense of humor, but this was a little more prop-oriented than he usually went for. 

It had been Stretch’s idea from the beginning, borrowed from a link someone had sent him on Twitter. Every week he posted a list of his thrift store finds and last time someone had sent a reply suggesting that since he loved thrifting so much, maybe he’d like to try a game.

Once he’d read up on it, well, of course he fucking had. This was 14-karat comedy gold and all he needed was a few willing ~~victims~~ players. 

The rules were simple; each of them had twenty bucks to spend at the thrift store on an outfit for the night. There was no washing, no adjusting, straight up as it came and that, friends and neighbors, had sounded like an _excellent_ time.

If he were honest, Stretch hadn’t really believed they’d be able to talk Antwan or Edge into it. Sometimes they were a little…eh…stodgy might be a good word. 

Tear-inducingly _boring_ might be better. It was Wednesday, the most mind-numbingly crap day of the week. If Stretch had to guess, he’d say even Wednesday’s mom didn’t like it. Had to step it up on Wednesdays to feel alive, that was a fact. 

Although to be fair Stretch really thought not being able to wash the clothes beforehand was what would put Edge off more than anything.

It had been an unexpected, and delightful, surprise when Edge readily agreed. Stretch wasn’t sure _why_ , but he also knew you didn’t look gift horses up the ass, not if you wanted to keep the gifts coming.

He didn’t know how Jeff had convinced Antwan and wasn’t gonna ask. Not until they had a few drinks in them, anyway. An exchange of goods and/or services was maybe involved, and Jeff did like to chatter after a few shots.

However they’d gotten their two lovable ‘A’ personalities to unpucker their assholes, real and implied, enough to get through the doors didn’t matter. The point was they were _here_ , and it had been an abso-fucking-delight to see the way those two had gotten into it. 

They’d kept a suspicious distance from each other, hiding their best finds under a pile of cheap coats in their cart. Stretch had to give them both credit; when Edge and Antwan did anything, they did it with furious intent. They were playing to win, and it was gonna get heated. 

Stretch really hoped it got heated, in many, many ways.

Course, he did have a _slight_ advantage, not that Stretch would ever admit to it. He knew most of the people who worked here, and they tended to save anything they thought might tickle his funny bone. He might have accidentally let it slip to them about the game when he’d stopped in last week and they’d acted like he issued them a personal challenge.

It wasn’t _cheating_ , thank you, it was taking advantage of an available resource. And he didn’t think Edge was going to mind once he got a good look.

Not long after they’d gotten here, one of the floor workers had snuck him an armful of secret clothing goodies and Stretch could have kissed them all for their hard work, with generous use of tongue. 

Somehow, they’d wrangled him an actual zoot suit, a rich striped brown with a burnt orange shirt and a matching tie. They’d even found him a fedora and so long as he was dressed like this, he felt not a single hipster vibe. Every time he glanced in one of the mirrors, Stretch grinned. He looked like he was about to break into a jazz riff at any moment and considering how gleeful he felt, he just might. This was a winner, for sure. 

But it was his Twitter followers who would be the ultimate judges.

“I’m ready,” Antwan called. Before Stretch could even grumble that it was about time, the flimsy door creaked open and so did Stretch’s jaw. He was starting to suspect he wasn’t the only person with an insider because Antwan was in a full tuxedo with tails, complete with gloves and an actual damn top hat. It was maybe a little big on him but hell, he was _owning it_. If he busted out with a Broadway rendition of ‘Phantom of the Opera,’ Stretch couldn’t say he’d be surprised. 

“you look great,” Stretch said, flabbergasted to honesty.

“I know,” Antwan preened. Even his shoes were polished to a mirror shine and Stretch had a nasty feeling there had been some judicious backstabbing here in the form of Thrift Store Employees who wanted a fun night even more than he did. 

He was retracting his mental offer of tongue, et tu, Macklemore.

“Okay, my turn!” Jeff all but skipped out of his dressing room, posing like a cheerleader and Stretch couldn’t help a laugh. 

Jeff pretty much looked like he’d stepped out of a Tiger Beat magazine. In a denim miniskirt and sneakers with scrunched socks, topped with a t-shirt emblazoned with glittery letters that proclaimed “I ‘heart’ the 80’s”. 

He gave Stretch a teasing wink and blew a large pink bubble, snapping his gum. Stretch caught a whiff of Hubba Bubba.

“extra points for realism,” Stretch grinned. “looking good, debbie gibson,”

“Hell, yeah, I do,” Jeff neatly settled a pink plastic visor on his head. “I shaved my legs the second you told me about this. Shame you can’t wear your own clothes, I have an awesome bedazzled denim jacket that would go great.”

“You look great even without it,” Antwan assured him. He tugged Jeff in for a kiss and Stretch watched shamelessly, his chin propped on one hand. If he bothered to glance in the mirror, his eye lights would probably be little hearts, but there was no time for confirmation. They were still one shy from a trip down the runway. 

Stretch rolled to his feet and tapped lightly on the closed door, “you joining us tonight, babe?”

“I’m almost ready,” Edge said, a touch curtly, and Stretch stepped back with a mental shrug. Maybe Edge wasn’t as cool with this as he’d thought he would be?

Stretch couldn’t even guess what Edge had found or even what the local traitors had helped him find. Maybe he’d gone for simple, a plain button-up and jeans, or a sweater? Maybe even a suit, they had a pretty nice selection available for people looking to pick up a cheap outfit for a job interview. It was possible he was even feeling playful and might be wearing a t-shirt with a silly slogan, but that was probably asking too much.

Didn’t matter, whatever he was wearing was going to be awesome, because Edge had agreed to play along even if he probably thought it was stupid. He’d agreed because he knew it would make Stretch happy and that meant more to him than any t-shirt or funny shoes. It meant the world.

He plopped back into his chair as the doorknob started to turn. The first thing Stretch heard right before the door opened was a jangle, what the hell—

“uh…” Stretch said, blankly. Every thought in his skull came to a screeching halt, melted like warm butter on a stovetop, and left nothing behind but two words on repeat, an alarm klaxon of oh, fuck, oh, fuck, oh, _fuck_ —

The jangle was from his boots, full-on motorhuckle ones with crisscrossed buckles and chains that went halfway up his calves. Edge was wearing a plain black T-shirt that outlined his ribs enticingly, a red bandanna tied around his neck, and a leather vest hanging open overtop. His jeans were criminally tight, riding low on his pelvis and whenever he moved, Stretch caught a tantalizing glimpse of his iliac crests. 

The whole package was topped off with a wide leather belt, the metal buckle an actual skull and crossbones, what the _fuck_ , abort, abort, Stretch needed a full damn reboot, this did not compute. This little game was supposed to be funny not…not…this!

His crotch was giving a pretty _firm_ alert that funny was not the correct adjective of the night. 

Edge gave him a smirk, cocking his hip in a way that dragged his T-shirt up another bare inch. “Problem, love?” he asked, silkily.

“that did not cost twenty bucks,” Stretch said flatly. 

“Hm, you’re right,” Edge mused. He propped one foot up on the seat right next to Stretch, the smooth leather brushing against his hip, and what that did to his jeans had to be illegal by state and federal law. “The boots are mine. The rest, however, is well within the rules.”

He leaned in, catching Stretch’s tie between two leather-clad fingers, letting the silk fabric hiss through his grip. “You look good.”

“thanks,” Stretch swallowed hard, trying to ease the embarrassing squeak in his voice. Useless, probably, it was a little surprising that he had enough magic left in the upper half of his body to even allow speech. “that outfit is better suited for your motorcycle than the car.”

Edge smirked and the crimson of his eye lights was a banked fire. “So it is. I think I’ll keep it. You never know, it might come in handy someday.”

The low, growling purr in his voice was definitely cheating and as soon as a thought managed to rattle to life in Stretch’s empty skull, he was going to call him out for it. Any time now..

“Okay, enough with the eye sex,” Antwan sighed, breaking the spell, and Stretch thought he deserved an extra point or two for the rescue. “I’m starving, the movie starts in two hours, and the clerks look like they are half a step from a riot over there.”

True enough, every worker in the store was crowded by the registers, phones in hand. Stretch made a mental note to remind them all to keep their head shots off the internet, clothes-only for the voting. Cheating could only go so far. 

“We can’t have eye sex,” Edge pointed out. “Technically we don’t have eyes.”

“Uh huh,” Antwan looked like he was biting off an argument, which, hell, two points for suppression of Lawyery Instincts in the face of expediency. “Whatever it is, it belongs in the bedroom, not the thrift store. Let’s hit it.” 

He gave Jeff a light pat on the ass, earning an indignant yelp but not an actual protest, the two of them making their way up front. 

Stretch hesitated and gave Edge a narrow look even as he tried not to fall under that gorgeous denim spell again. 

“you lost, you know,” Stretch told him, loftily. “the boots disqualify you. everything was supposed to be from the thrift store.”

“Did I?” Edge asked, unconcernedly. Stretch had to stifle a moan that definitely didn’t belong in the vicinity of a thrift store as Edge crowded up behind him, denim and leather scraping roughly against his suit. His breath was hot against Stretch’s skull as he whispered, “I think you’ll find I may have lost your game, but I’m definitely winning mine.”

“uh huh,” Stretch mumbled inanely. He stood wobbling on his feet as Edge drew away and went to join the others. The sway of his hips in those jeans did absolutely nothing for rebooting Stretch’s flagging IQ. 

It did plenty for other parts of him. 

Stretch closed his eyes and gave himself a mental shake. If that was the way Edge wanted to play, well, maybe it was time for him to rack up some of his own points. He cleared his throat, testing his voice, “ready for my close up, mr demille.”

Smooth as the silk of his tie, Stretch decided with a smirk of his own and spun his hat on one finger as he made his way up front. 

Time to play. 

-finis-

**Author's Note:**

> Please, go see this _gorgeous_ art that hj_skb of our Edgelord in his winning outfit and you'll understand exactly why Stretch was a little brain fried. Rawr!
> 
>  
> 
> [Look here!](https://twitter.com/hj_skb/status/1099758942421307392)


End file.
